


I Like You A Latte

by ghiblitears



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Baristas, Cameos, Flirting Through Latte Art, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, lance does his best as a wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12610564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghiblitears/pseuds/ghiblitears
Summary: A Heith Coffeeshop AU featuring Latte Artist Hunk, Tired College Student Keith, and an unorthodox first meeting.





	I Like You A Latte

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S DONE!
> 
> If you guys follow my VLD tumblr you'll know I've been hammering out this story for months, and I'm super excited to finally show it to you. I've been dying to write some Heith fluff and I poured a lot of love (and espresso) into this story. Enjoy!

Hunk's first encounter with the pretty stranger is on a rainy Monday morning.

 

Each September brings a slew of new customers, with a predictable amount of them being university students. Coffee Bean is full to bursting most mornings, with a solid hour-long rush that starts around 8:30am when anyone with a morning class dashes in for a hit of caffeine. The atmosphere, when it's not crazy busy, is studious; as expected for a university cafe. Customers who've already received their orders are clustered at the tables and surrounded by piles of paper, their tired faces illuminated by the light of their laptops. The door creaks open several times in a row, either bringing new patrons in or ushering them out.

 

And even when it's hectic, it's kind of nice. Hunk's used to the rush, used to working fast and efficient, used to making drinks as fast as possible while still making them look good. He should be, after over a year working there.

 

Mini disasters, however, still occasionally catch him off-guard.

 

"Macchiato for Matt!" he calls as he slides the drink across the countertop. A tall guy with shaggy blond hair snags it before it's even stopped moving. He calls "thanks!" before dashing out the door in typical 'morning customer' style. Hunk and Lance have been dealing with a rush for almost a half hour already and the line of cups waiting next to the espresso machine, each messily labeled with a drink and a name, stretches all the way to where Lance is at the cash. More customers crowd the end of the counter, waiting for their coffee. The espresso machines' steamers warm the air, even with a cool breeze that accompanies each new customer as they walk through the door.

 

Three more drinks fly out of his hands and across the counter in the span of a couple minutes. Lance's line begins to thin out a bit, although there are still plenty of people on his end. 

 

He's barely finished calling out "latte for Keith" when someone darts through the line and snags the drink before making a run for the door. 

_He was in a hurry,_ Hunk observes. And without so much as a ‘thank you’, either. In fairness, he _gets_ the need for caffeine — he’s a student working at a cafe partially for the free drinks, after all — but man, some people can be rude.

 

Hunk is about to move onto the next drink when someone approaches the counter — a guy his age, with dark hair and a stack of textbooks under one arm. His red backpack is slung over one shoulder. The newcomer scans the counter, and upon seeing it empty his face twists in surprise and anger. He whips his head towards the door, where the rude customer has just gone.

 

"That was my drink!" he says, frustration audible in his words.

 

Shit.

 

Hunk loves his job; he’s good at it, for one, and his clientele is usually pretty nice, for another. University students aren’t often the type to get into shouting matches with the workers over a wrong drink or forgetting whipped cream or what-have-you. But there are two things Hunk really, really hates about being a barista, and they are angry customers and drink thieves. He's currently facing both at once; the victim looks tired and pissed off to all hell. Probably on his way to class, and probably late now that his drink got stolen. The thief is, unfortunately, long gone.

 

Lance looks over in the commotion, and winces when he sees the bristling customer and Hunk's undoubtedly panicked expression. "Hold tight, dude. Hunk'll make you another one," he calls. Lance slides another cup towards him before turning his attention back to the next customer. 

 

Hunk starts the drink over again, and it might be the fastest latte he's ever made. The customer —Keith? Was that his name? —stares him down as he does, and his dark eyes have weight to them. When he pours the milk into the espresso he elects to draw a little smiley face (that comes out a little wonky, yeah, but he's admittedly not at his best) on the top. He slides the drink across the counter.

 

"Hope the rest of your day is better," he says, and smiles apologetically.

 

Keith takes the drink from him. Now that he has something caffeinated he seems to relax slightly, and Hunk notices for the first time that he's actually quite attractive. He's shorter than Hunk, but carries himself in a way that makes him seem taller than he actually is. His raven hair is longish, almost shoulder length. A black windbreaker is draped over his shoulders, over a black t-shirt. And even though it's only early September and the temperatures haven't dropped very sharply yet, his hands are adorned in black fingerless gloves.

 

He glances up with those dark eyes and offers a curt "thanks" before slipping through the door. As he turns and leaves Hunk notices a small keychain dangling off his backpack —a small plush hippo attached to one of the zippers. It clashes so much with what little Hunk has seen of Keith that it seems almost comical.

 

The rest of the rush progresses normally, and once it's finished Lance leaves the register and leans dramatically against the counter in front of the espresso machine. "Do you think Allura will notice if I call in sick every Monday for the rest of time?" he asks.

 

"I might say no if it were anyone else," Hunk replies. He grabs an assortment of dirty milk cups and heads for the sink. "But since it's Allura, yes. Also, if you leave me to handle the rush alone I will give you decaf for the rest of your life."

 

Lance lets out a groan and slides further down the counter until he's almost a perfect ninety-degree angle. "Sorry about that runner, by the way. Those guys suck. And Mullet looked ready for murder."

 

Hunk shrugs, but cracks a smile at Lance's nickname. "You would too if you had a morning class and someone stole your caffeine first thing in the morning"

 

"True." He stands. "But better him than me. At least it worked out okay."

 

Hunk glances out the colossal window to his left. The cafe front is entirely glass, open out to the quad and the fountain that sits in the campus square. Sunshine peeks through the tree line and illuminates the stone square, shining off the pool of water and throwing reflections of light every which way. Students mill around, some on their way to class, some just sitting and talking or listening to music. Keith is long gone, of course. Hunk wonders what his major is — he'd been a little too distracted to check out what textbooks he'd had.

 

Maybe if he comes in again he'll ask.

 

***

 

He gets a chance a week and a half later.

 

The day is surprisingly nice after a bout of rain that had plagued the university, a sudden sunburst on the horizon prompting the world to warm up a couple degrees. Leaves have begun to twirl gently towards the ground, prompting Hunk to amp up his latte art game. When he gets the chance he draws maple leaves in customers' latte foam, and the slew of approving compliments from them have him in a good mood once midday rolls around. And now that they’re several weeks into September, classes have picked up in earnest — between shifts, Hunk is either at his engineering classes or furiously studying in the library with Lance. The first half of the week is occupied by morning rushes and evening lectures, and his schedule flips on Wednesday to the opposite. He’d give anything for a day off at this point.

 

The door to Coffee Bean breezes open, bringing with it two customers and half of a conversation;

 

"—so I said 'sir, I'm just not sure a straight, white man should be teaching a class called Gender and Sexuality in Science Fiction.' and I think one of his neck veins started to pop out," a short girl with untidy brown hair says. She has a paperback clutched in one hand and is using the other one to gesture along with her story. Behind her glasses, her brown eyes are wide. 

 

And next to her is Keith, with his hippo-adorned backpack slung over one shoulder and his textbooks back under his arm. He still has the gloves, Hunk notices, and has one eyebrow raised quizzically as he listens to the girl ramble. His hair is pushed into a dark red beanie. It's a whole different vibe from the last time Hunk saw him. Not being angry is a good look on him.

 

"Professor Sendak sucks," he says. "What did he say after?"

 

"He said 'Miss Holt, I would appreciate it if you refrained from using societal perceptions to cut down other people's opinions'." If eyerolling were audible, she probably would have been heard from outside.

 

"And?"

 

"And then I left." She grins. "I dropped the class and rolled out of there. Fuck that guy. He said that aliens subjecting to a patriarchal system made by humans was 'not unrealistic', and shot down all the arguments we made against it."

 

Keith nods approvingly. "Power move."

 

They approach the counter to order, forcing Hunk to forgo eavesdropping in favour of making their drinks. A macchiato for the girl and (surprise, surprise) a latte for Keith.

 

When it comes to garnishing the drinks, he has an idea. 

 

"Latte for Keith," he calls. "And macchiato for..." he squints at the name scrawled on the side of the cup. "Pidge?"

 

The girl saunters up to the counter. "That's me," she says, sticking her hands out to grab the drink. She smiles when she sees the alien head he'd drawn in the dab of milk foam.

 

"LIT 271?" he asks, referencing the class she'd been talking about, and she rolls her eyes again.

 

"The one and only," she replies.

 

"If you ever come back in here and see a tall girl with white hair and pink eye makeup," he says, extending his hand until it’s approximately Allura’s height. "ask her how she exited Sendak's scifi class in a blaze of glory."

 

Pidge's eyes shine. "Will do."

 

During their conversation, Keith had been staring down into his drink, and now he looks up at Hunk. He points down at it, specifically to the alien head that floats among the espresso. "Do you do this in all the drinks?"

 

"When I can, yeah," he replies. "It's the little things in life, you know? I mean, they're not always aliens — of course — but you guys gave me a good lead-in. And I was tired of drawing maple leaves anyway."

 

Aaaand he's rambling. Classy.

 

"Nice," Keith says, and gives the barest hint of a smile.

 

Success. Hunk grins at his approval. "Just don't let anyone run off with it this time, okay?"

 

He might be mistaken, but he thinks he sees Keith flush slightly. He shifts his weight, hands curling around the paper cup like someone’s going to nab it from him. "Sorry about that. I overslept and was already late for class. Losing my drink was kind of the last straw."

 

He waves a nonchalant hand. "No biggie. Getting mugged happens to the best of us."

 

Pidge fixes him with a blank look. "Was that a pun?"

 

There's a groan from the cash register, and all three of them look up to see Lance looking exasperated, a cup in one hand and his pen poised over it. His customer, halted in the middle of giving her order, looks startled. "Hunk, please don't," Lance says.

 

"He asked me how I was earlier and I said 'bean better'," Hunk says with a shrug, but he knows his crime. Half the fun of being a barista is making bad jokes. "And I'm on a one-pun limit."

 

“We have _rules_ in this establishment,” Lance says in a decent impression of Allura, pulling the vowels into a mockery of her British accent. He turns back to the customer, unperturbed at her confused expression.

 

“Anyway, enjoy your day. Find some better classes.” Hunk waves them off. Pidge grins and waves back. Keith hesitates, like he wants to say something more, before he nods and follows her out the door. This time Hunk manages to catch a glimpse of the textbooks he’s carrying — the second one looks like a spiral-bound course pack, but the top one is a thick white paperback book with the words IMAGINATIVE WRITING III — THE ESSENTIALS OF CRAFT on the spine.

 

So he’s a writer. That explains his familiarity with Sendak — a lot of his courses are mandatory for literature and writing majors — and why Hunk hasn’t seen him around campus other than at Coffee Bean. The faculty of arts is on the other side of campus, several minutes trek across the quad and the science buildings.

 

His thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of another cup, and he goes back to work.

 

***

 

If one were to ask him, Hunk would say that his actions were unprompted. That was entirely untrue.

 

Well, not entirely. But he hadn’t planned them in advance, and he definitely hadn’t planned to get as invested as he had in making Keith’s days better. Even if it was through the smallest gesture he could offer — an extra smile, a drawing in his drink, and the promise of a good day — things he could do innocuously, innocently, on the job without making it awkward. Keith occupies most of his free thoughts after that day — Hunk wants to ask him a million questions about his major, about if he’s staying on-campus or off, about why he keeps coming back to the shop, about why he keeps talking to him — and it becomes increasingly harder to stop. Because Keith comes in often, and always makes time to say hi.

 

More importantly, he hadn’t planned to get a crush. And he hadn’t planned on anyone finding out it existed.

 

On the day in question (partway through October, several weeks after their first few encounters), Keith had come in and smiled — faintly, subtly, but a real smile! — and Hunk’s insides had immediately turned to liquid. He hadn’t known exactly what put the image in his mind, but once the order came through and he started the drink (Keith’s usual latte, of course) he’d known what he’d wanted to do.

 

It took an embarrassingly long time. The foam had to be poured in certain shapes, in a particular order he hadn’t tried before, but he finally got something that resembled the picture he wanted. A wooden stir-stick and a dash of chocolate powder added extra dimension.

 

Hunk really hoped Keith liked chocolate, or else he’d potentially ruined his drink. Whoops.

 

“How’s the workload?” he asks, nodding to the books in Keith’s arms.

 

Keith shifts the texts. They must have been heavy, judging by the way he carried them, and suddenly Hunk wants to take them from him, to give him a break. Judging by the dark circles under Keith’s eyes, he’d pulled more than one all-nighter in the past week. He could probably use it.

 

“It’s midterm season,” Keith replies. “And I’ve got two short stories due.”

 

Hunk winces. He sympathizes — he has a truckload of homework to get started once he’s done at Coffee Bean, himself. He slides the finished latte across the counter. “Get caffeinated and make those wordcounts, then.”

 

“You got it,” Keith says. As he notices what’s drawn in the top of his drink his eyebrows shoot up, and he glances up at Hunk with an amused look. “A hippo?”

 

In truth, Hunk’s quite proud of this one. The milk had been unwieldy, but he’d managed to get the round head and nose the right shape. Two smaller dots formed the ears. The final dash of chocolate he’d used to outline it, and two brown circles of powder made the eyes and nose. It stares up at Keith adoringly from the dark espresso.

 

“Yeah. I wanted to draw the one on your keychain.” Hunk points to the red backpack slung in it’s usual spot on Keith’s shoulder. “It’s cute.”

 

To his surprise, Keith flushes, and his eyes dart back to the drink. “Pidge got that for me years ago.”

 

Oh no. Did he made things weird? He’s definitely made things weird. Way to overstep his bounds. He  reaches to take the drink back.

 

“Sorry! I can make another—“

 

“No,” Keith stops him. And to further his surprise, an actual elated smile spreads across his face. “It’s good. Cute. I like it.”

 

Hunk opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and settles on a simple wave. “See you around?”

 

“Yeah, definitely. Thanks.” Keith waves back (maybe a little too quickly — not that Hunk’s analyzing that or anything) before grabbing the drink and heading for the door.

 

As the glass door shuts with a soft click, Hunk finally notices Lance hovering around the periphery of his vision. When he turns to face him Lance is wearing a mask of confusion. One of his eyebrows is raised practically to his hairline. In the wake of what he’d presumably just witnessed, that’s worrying.

 

“Dude, that was the longest I’ve ever seen you take to make a latte. What gives?” Lance’s curious stare flickers from the coffee station to where Keith had just left. “I know he was the only customer, but—“

 

Hunk sees realization happen in real-time as soon as the words are out of his mouth, before he can try and explain himself. Lance’s expression shifts to one of open-mouthed surprise before a wicked grin splits his face. He leans sideways, propping himself on the counter with his elbow, and looks smugly at Hunk.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Lance.”

 

“ _Oh_.”

 

“ _Lance_.”

 

He points an accusing finger. “You like him.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hunk deadpans. To his own credit, he keeps a neutrally displeased face as he counters.

 

“No one takes ten years to make someone’s drink unless they’re crushing,” he says pointedly. “I call bullshit.”

 

This was not how Hunk wanted this day to go. He wants to say something in his defense, but he’s realizing just how much he’s broadcasted his feelings already. All he settles on is raising both hands in defeat, in a universal gesture that seems to say ‘please go easy on me’.

 

“So you _do_ like him!” Lance grabs Hunk’s shoulders and stares him in the eye with an intensity usually reserved for life-or-death scenarios. Then again, that’s usually his stance on romantic affairs. “You gotta ask him out.”

 

“What? No. No, no, nope, not happening.” Hunk feels his cheeks flush. He steps back, out of Lance’s grasp. “First of all, that’s unprofessional.”

 

“It’s unprofessional to have a crush?” Lance throws his hands in the air. Spinning around, he grabs a stack of cups and begins shoving them in their spot by the cash. Rage-restocking is his specialty. “If that were true I would’ve been fired ages ago.”

 

“Okay, but have you  _seen_  Keith? He’s a writer and dresses nice and is smart and is... very attractive.” Hunk winces at how he’d stuttered the last part. Oh no.

 

“Yeah, and he’s totally into you. Why do you think he comes here all the time?”

 

He doesn’t want false hope, but he can’t deny that Keith had come in on nearly every single one of his shifts since September. But a lot of customers did that — cold weather and finals approaching meant that their regulars were coming in more and more frequently. That didn’t mean anything, he decides.

 

“‘Yeah, customers do that.”

 

Lance stops sorting cups and turns back to him. “Hunk,” he said. “I’ve seen him look in the window and keep walking when he realizes you’re not here.”

 

“No, you haven’t.”

 

“I swear!” His attention pivots back to the cups. “It happened the other day. Ask Allura to bring up the security cameras if you don’t believe me.”

 

The idea of doing that, no matter how hypothetical, sends a jolt of anxiety through him. Hell, going to his manager to ask anything was enough to set him on edge. Allura’s the golden child of Coffee Bean; lovely to clients, a good worker, fair but strict — if she found out he was flirting on the job—

 

Oh God. He’d just admitted to himself that he’d been flirting. Alarm bells start to go off in his head.

 

Hunk faceplants onto the coffee counter. “What am I doing?”

 

Lance must have finished with the stocking, because when Hunk looks up he’s standing over him. He’d abandoned the teasing face in favour of one that was actually supportive, and Hunk remembers that while Lance loves to tease, underneath it all he really is a pillar of support. He puts his hand on Hunk’s shoulder.

 

“If you feel that strongly about this — whatever it is.” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Then you should go after it.”

 

“What if he says no?”

 

“Then you get over it.” He shrugs. “It’ll suck, but it won’t last forever. It’s just a crush.”

 

Hunk fixes him with a blank look. “Says the guy who took three months to get over that caramel macchiato girl.”

 

“How was I supposed to know Nyma had a boyfriend?!” He throws his hands in the air again. “Look, you can take my advice or leave it. But I’ll be damned if I let you let this potential lover slip away.”

 

Somehow, ‘potential lover’ is the phrase that ends up tattooing itself in bold block letters behind his eyelids — and Hunk really wishes it isn’t, because it’s getting harder and harder to not blush as soon as Keith walked into the shop.

 

“You’re too enthusiastic about being my wingman,” Hunk says, nose-to-nose with the ceramic countertop.

 

“Somebody has to be,” Lance replies. He claps Hunk on the shoulder. “Let me know when you decide to do something about this.”

 

Then he disappears through the back doors to head to the staff area, leaving Hunk alone in the front of the shop with his thoughts.

 

***

 

Winter comes, and blows several new ideas into Hunk’s head like snowflakes on the wind.

 

The second week in December it started to snow in earnest. Hunk was surprised in the change in everyone’s attitude — most people in the area hated snow, but somehow the beauty of it had come through and stuck them with a good mood. Not that he was complaining, really. He liked it when people were happy.

 

And under that attitude, Hunk decided he’d had enough.

 

Both him and Keith had been dancing around whatever had been developing between them since September. Whatever it was, it was achingly slow — there had been moments when he’d wanted to say something, or when Keith had hesitated just slightly too long in conversation, where Hunk had wondered if this would be the right time. Yet nothing had happened, and he was worried it was going to continue down the same path if he didn’t do something.

 

It was time to act or let go. And he didn’t want to let go.

 

The evening is an especially cold one; the customers that occupy Coffee Bean are clad in thick scarves and sweaters, their hands wrapped around warm beverages in an attempt to chase out the chill. Soft jazz floats through the air from the store speakers — he’d convinced Lance to try something other than the generic pop playlist, and everyone seemed to be enjoying it. Though there are no lines in the store, it’s full of customers, crowded at tables and sprawled over the armchairs. With the chill outside, it’s cozy. Comforting.

 

When Keith comes through the door that evening, shaking snowflakes from his coat and flashing Hunk his usual shy smile, his anxiety skyrockets. He has a plan, sure — but that doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous about it.

 

Before Keith can make it to the cash register, Hunk waves him over. He obliges, and stands opposite him at the coffee counter wearing a confused expression.

 

“Changing up the routine, huh?” he asks, eyeing the paper cup in Hunk’s hands.

 

“Something like that,” Hunk replies. He’s already at work putting together Keith’s usual order, and the smell of the coffee and the thrum of the espresso machine beneath his fingertips calms him. He’d made drinks a dozen times before. This time shouldn’t be any different. “Hang tight.”

 

Hunk can tell that Lance is openly watching from the cash. He hadn’t even noticed that Pidge is there too — she’d snuck in after Keith, and he’d apparently been too nervous to notice her. She stands opposite Lance at the register like she’s about to order, but she’s staring too, those wide brown eyes looking all the way into his soul.

 

Geez. No pressure.

 

Once the espresso is filled and the milk steamed, Hunk knows what he wants to draw. He takes extra care on this order, pouring the white foam precisely into the cup to make the shape he wants. It’s a simple one, and calls him back to the wonky smiley face in the first latte he’d made Keith, but he wants to get it right. When he’s done he slides the drink to Keith, who looks at it with that same curious expression. He looks from Hunk to the drink, and then back to Hunk again.

 

Keith glances up from the foam, where he’d drawn a question mark. “What’s this?”

 

Hunk inhales, exhales, and steels himself for rejection before he stares into Keith’s dark eyes. “Will you go on a date with me?”

 

Whatever Keith had expected, that clearly hadn’t been it. Pink immediately blooms on his cheeks and his eyes widen once he processes exactly what Hunk had just asked. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. If he hadn’t had the latte resting on the ceramic countertop he probably would have dropped it.

 

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay too! I mean, I could be totally reading into this wrong. But I just wanted to ask — you’re in here all the time, and no one ever stops to talk to me like you do, and you seem to be a really cool person?” And once again Hunk is made painfully aware that he’s rambling, but once the words start they don’t stop. He gestures wildly with the metal milk cup. “So I guess I wanted to ask. But like, no pressure.”

 

He thinks he hears Lance whisper “oh my god” from somewhere to his left, and he makes a mental note to kill him later for making this moment more awkward than it needs to be.

 

Meanwhile, Keith looks steadily more shocked. His mouth is still slightly agape, his eyes still owlish, and his hands still grip the latte like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. After a moment of silence he seems to catch himself, and coughs slightly before he speaks;

 

“I... don’t know what to say.” And it’s the softest Keith’s voice has ever been, and it makes Hunk feel like he’s floating away.

 

From their left, Pidge slams her hands on the counter and stage-whispers the words “SAY YES!”

 

Keith flushes even darker red, if that’s possible, and visibly swallows. The he does something Hunk _doesn’t_ expect, and shoves the latte back towards Hunk.

 

“Yes? I mean, I do want to go out with you,” he says, and points down at the drink. “But I can’t take this.”

 

Hunk is perplexed. He’d been making lattes for Keith for months — what had changed?

 

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

 

He doesn’t know how to describe the effect Keith’s confession has on him (or even what part of it shocks him more), but the phrase ‘earth-shattering realization’ comes to mind, followed by what might be the most concentrated wave of mortification he’s ever experienced. Possibly a tad overdramatic, but that’s the least of his worries at the moment. Because if Keith’s lactose intolerant, and has been all this time...

 

 Oh no. Oh _no_.

 

Hunk wants to say something coherent, but all he manages is a squeaky “ _what_?”

 

“I didn’t know!” Keith’s hands leave the latte like it shocked him. His eyes are wide, bright in the red of his face. “I just found out! I was going to try and order something different today, I wasn’t expecting this at all—”

 

“Keith, I’ve been making you drinks with whole milk for _two months_.” The metal cup drops out of Hunk’s hands to clatter on the countertop, and it’s in that moment, when most of the store turns their heads in the direction of the loud noise, that he remembers there’s an audience to their show.

 

There’s a commotion from the end of the counter, and both Hunk and Keith look up to see Pidge nearly bent double with muffled laughter and Lance trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his amused grin. He glances at the clock before pointing to the door, entirely too casual. “Hey, Hunk? Want to take your fifteen-minute break now?”

 

***

 

Hunk ducks through the door a few minutes later, a cup clutched in his gloved hand, and spots Keith in the quad near the largest tree. The air is bitterly cold, in sharp contrast to the warm and inviting atmosphere of Coffee Bean, and he shivers as he makes his way over. Ice crunches beneath his boots, and his steps drag long lines in the snow behind him. There isn’t a lot of activity on the campus in the late hour — the snow is probably keeping everyone indoors, and with good reason. If he hadn’t just experienced the most humiliating moment of his life there, Hunk would definitely still be in Coffee Bean.

 

Keith notices him approach and comes to meet him halfway. His red scarf is drawn up and over the bottom half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. They dart down to the drink, then up to Hunk’s face with curiosity.

 

“It’s tea,” he explains, handing the cup over. Keith takes it, curling his gloved fingers over the white paper. “Sorry I made you a bunch of drinks that low-key killed you.”

 

Keith laughs — a genuine laugh, but one that’s cut with an undercurrent of nervousness. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t know either.”

 

“How did you not know?” Hunk asks, amused.

 

He doesn’t miss the way Keith blushes again, and seems to curl into himself. A gust of winter wind chills them, and Keith pulls his scarf further up over his nose. “Didn’t occur to me. I thought I was getting stomach aches from nerves after seeing you. But I didn’t want to stop.”

 

From _nerves_. It’s a relief to know that Keith had been as anxious about the whole affair as he had. Something in Hunk releases; he feels light as a balloon floating up to the sky. He edges closer, brushing their shoulders together. The snow falls gently around them, a thousand tiny pinpricks of ice against the bare skin of his face.

 

“You meant it when you said you wanted to go on a date, right?” Hunk asks.

 

“Of course I did.” Keith sips the tea. His breath forms clouds in the cool air, spiraling up to the sky when he exhales.

 

“Can I suggest we go literally anywhere other than a cafe?”

 

At that, Keith laughs again, but he sounds more at ease, as though his nerves have left him. Hunk decides to take a leap of faith, and brushes Keith’s hand. He reciprocates, twines their hands together almost immediately, warm beneath the fabric of their gloves. Now Hunk’s sure he’s the one blushing, but if anyone asks it’s just the cold. He squeezes Keith’s hand.

 

“I think we can do that,” Keith says.

 

***

 

It’s early March, and while the cold hasn’t quite let up its grip on the outside world, Coffee Bean is as warm and inviting as ever.

 

Hunk breaks into a grin when he spots a familiar set of dark hair and smiling eyes duck through the glass door. “I have a surprise for you!” he calls, and points to one of the tables. Keith changes his path and waits expectantly, seating himself in one of the chairs.

 

Lance waves as he enters, and gives Hunk a sly sideways glance. “Fifteen minutes, no more,” he says, but it’s accompanied by a smile. Hunk claps him on the shoulder as he heads for the back, and Lance gives him a thumbs-up.

 

When Hunk joins Keith at the table a moment later, it’s with a sense of contentment and ease. Their relationship, after their rocky start, fell into a comforting rhythm the more time they spent together; now it’s only normal for Keith to show up at Coffee Bean in time for his boyfriend’s breaks, or for Hunk to find him in the library, hunched over his laptop and skimming over his work with an endearing look of concentration, and keep him company while he writes.

 

He slides into the seat across from Keith and sets his prize on the table; a latte, steaming in a ceramic cup and topped with a simple foam heart.

 

“We finally got lactose-free milk!” he grins, and Keith’s look of initial confusion shifts to one of approval. “Which is great, because I think you’re gonna need it once midterms hit again.”

 

“Good.” Keith lifts the latte to his mouth and takes an experimental sip. “I was getting tired of black coffee.”

 

“And I was tired of making you boring drinks,” Hunk replies, waiting expectantly for his reaction. “How is it?”

 

“It’s great.” He smiles, and leans in towards Hunk. “Thanks.”

 

If Hunk went back in time to their first meeting in September and told his past self that in the future he’d get to kiss Keith, he wouldn’t have believed it. He still doesn’t believe it some days — that the pretty stranger from all those months ago is dating him now. But it’s real, and a lovely result from an otherwise unorthodox introduction. He accepts the kiss, and catches Keith’s free hand in his own when they break away.

 

It may not have been an ideal first meeting, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr:  
> @ghiblirey (main)  
> @espressopidge (VLD sideblog)


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